“You can’t, eh?” returned Wentworth, reddening. “Then I can. Hark you, Harrington: I may have told fibs in my life, but I can say, with Alfieri, that I’m a man of as few lies as anybody. Still, when the time comes for a bouncer, let it be a big one, I say, and handsomely done. In my judgment, the time has come now, and up-stairs I’m going to do the deed. After which, if I don’t grab Antony back again, even if I have to go all the way to Louisiana to do it, then Emily Ames will never be Emily Wentworth. So!”
And with his handsome face flushed and kindled, Wentworth walked out of the library and up-stairs to Roux’s room.
“Where’s my brother Ant’ny,” cried Roux, with a wild face, the minute he saw him. “I waked up, and he’s not here, and I’m afeard of my life for him.”
“My dear Mr. Roux, don’t be at all alarmed, for Antony is perfectly safe,” said Wentworth, blandly, with an air of the most perfect smiling composure.
Roux put his dark hand over his mouth as was his wont, and looked at Wentworth with a wistful dubiety, as wondering if he spoke the truth. But there was truth in every lineament of Wentworth’s smiling countenance, and Roux’s gaze wandered downward to the floor.
“I’ve been mighty skeered, Mr. Wentworth,” he said, timidly. “I was afeard all wasn’t right somehow.”
“Perfectly right, Mr. Roux,” pursued Wentworth. “You know we were going to send you up to Worcester on Monday or Tuesday. But we had a chance this evening to send Antony on by private conveyance, and as we thought that safer than the cars, we let him go. You were asleep, and as you were to see him again so soon, we thought we wouldn’t waken you. Tugmutton’s gone on with him, and to-morrow or next day, you are to follow. I thought I’d just come up and tell you, lest you should be anxious.”
“I’m very much obleeged to you, Mr. Wentworth,” said Roux, smiling and bowing, “and I feel mighty relieved to hear this, sir, for I begun to be proper skeered.”
“Indeed?” said Wentworth, blandly, “I’m sorry. But it’s all right. Good evening.”